


Auf Wiedersehen

by imperator_titus



Series: Constructive Interference [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A lot of Hurt, Bisexual Hux, Character Death, Deflowering, Enemies to Lovers, Historical AU, Hurt, M/M, My Rusty Deutsche, Not an entirely happy ending, Of the Feelings, Porn with Feelings, Reincarnation AU, Soulmate AU, Translated German, WWI AU, Willfully Ignorant, World War I, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-13 18:36:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16023623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperator_titus/pseuds/imperator_titus
Summary: In the British Army, Brigadier Hux marches with his commanding officer Major General Snoke as they seek to thwart the Germans by any means possible. With one fateful capture of an enemy officer, Hux is eager to once again prove himself by extracting much-needed information to hopefully put a nail in the war's coffin.





	1. Willkommen in der Hölle.

**Author's Note:**

> I humbly apologize to anyone who is hoping for a thoroughly accurate and immersive WWI experience. I have used what knowledge I already have plus some searches (that sometimes end up being a little rabbit-hole-y but not that deep) to drop some location names but I'm not well-versed in the Great War. The aftermath will also not be as devastating as it was in reality, but it won't be very sunshine-and-rainbows either. Their ranks are the English and German ranks for NATO OF-6 instead of period-accurate ranks. My German is also super rusty, so I apologize to German-speakers and will accept corrections. Translations will be at the end. 
> 
> Aneirin meant 'noble' in Welsh while Adalwin roughly means 'noble friend' in German. 'Leser' is Reader in German. Thus Aneirin Reader = Adalwin Leser.
> 
> Please enjoy Part 1 of the series _Constructive Interference_!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Laissons-nous persuader  
>  Au souffle berceur et doux  
> Qui vient, à tes pieds, rider  
>  Les ondes des gazons roux’  
> - **Paul Verlaine** , Calmes dans la demi-jour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: Welcome to Hell.
> 
> 'Let us yield then, you and I,  
> To the waftings, calm and sweet,  
> As their breeze-blown lullaby  
> Sways the gold grass at your feet.'

A war too long, too many bodies on the fields. Too many that did not even receive the dignity of dying facing their enemy but succumbing to the harsh conditions of the trenches. Brigadier Hux would thank God for sparing him that fate if the last four hadn’t destroyed what little faith he had, disenchanting him from any idea of a benevolent creator. How was this benevolence, to let millions of lives be snuffed out, for what? Pieces of paper drawing the lines of loyalty? For Christ’s sake, the German Empire’s Wilhelm was their own Queen Victoria’s grandchild. 

It didn’t matter, in the end. Armitage went to war. Rose to the rank of Brigadier and followed his Major-General across the continent, wherever they were set to go. The red bastard of a British Lord, he proved himself useful in many ways, some less favorable than others. 

On the other side of the Seine they’d surrounded a squad of Prussians; the only one to survive was their commander. When Hux caught sight of the captured officer he was surprised by the man’s stature. Relatively short, Brigadier General Adalwin Leser at least wore the golden hair of their northern ancestors and looked just as strong as any of his brothers. He reminded Hux of a wrestler he knew once, although that man had been from Macedonia and colored much differently, and so he knew that their prisoner was still capable of being very dangerous. 

Given that squads led by generals acting on their own wasn’t commonplace, Hux’s own commanding officer was set on finding out what they could about the Boche’s1 purpose near the Seine. Attempts to break the man proved useless and so the lithe lordling was called upon to employ his skills. He knew the Major-General to be particularly harsh with their captives, though this one’s rank afforded him a special level of civility sparing him some of the more gruesome horrors, but it was still unsurprising to see the trail of blood from nose to hip on the man bound to the chair in the middle of the makeshift cell. Daylight still filtered in through the upstairs window of the abandoned farmhouse they’d commandeered for purposes such as housing officers and treating the wounded. Now interrogation. 

“You’re going to tell me why you were crossing the river.” Hux voice was clipped and harsh, there was no point in trying to coax. He stood in front of the closed door, arms crossed over his chest, and glared down his pale nose at the officer before him. Slowly the head of gold was lifted and against all his willpower, the Englishman was drawn in to a pair of deep blue eyes that became just as enamored with him. 

“Du bist so schön.”2 The foreign language broke Hux from the spell. His long pale fingers wrapped around his prey’s throat but the man didn’t seem to mind. He even smiled a little, but not the smug little smirks Hux would see when his captives thought they could get the upper hand. “Danke.”3

“Bitte.4 Now tell me what I want to know.” He squeezed but the German just chuckled and shook his head from side to side. So Hux squeezed even harder. The serenity that those two blue eyes radiated as they looked at him was both lovely and disturbing. The man’s lips moved and the grip around his throat loosened.

“Why must I?” Hux growled in frustration, releasing his hold on the prisoner altogether. This one would be difficult, the circumstances of their capture too unique. For all the English knew this man was bait, a distraction, and all he had to do was wait for the trap to be sprung. He would have to employ different methods to extract information. Humiliation.

Hux’s hand found the space between the brigadier general’s legs, finding it warm and decidedly fuller than he’d expected. He heard the smallest sharp intake of breath and when he curled his fingers in there was a soft moan. 

Seemed humiliation wasn’t going to work. Hux pressed his palm against the hardening flesh and received a ‘Scheiße’5 for his trouble. The man’s face flushed and his blue eyes were hazy, breath ragged. He was looking down at where Hux had a hold of him, almost in disbelief. The Englishman’s lips curled in an impish smirk, realizing this was the reaction of someone who had minimal to no contact of this sort. With his free hand he grabbed the golden hair to make the boche look at him. “Answer my question.”

“Nein, mein Engel, es tut mir Leid.”6 Hux scoffed. He undid the buttons and ties, could practically feel the release of the tension in the fabric, heard the soft sound of relief. Hux’s long fingers found the silky, hot skin of the German’s excited cock. After a few strokes he repeated his demand. “Please.”

“Oh, you’re the one begging?” He continued to pump, the palm of his hand applying pressure. The way the man mewed and writhed his hips, his torturer’s lips pulled thin in a grim imitation of a smile. “Aha, never done this before? Fine, I can play that game.”

The sound of his knees softly hitting the floor was grenades exploding in the trenches. Long pink tongue ran along the underside of a thick cock, eliciting the most whorish sounds Hux had ever heard from a man. It didn’t take long for him to establish his control and a tight grip brought the brigadier general to his mercy. Through the thick accent and uncultured control of the English language he understood “think I will give you anything, lovely?”

Frustrated that he couldn’t even get a virgin to cooperate with him, Hux removed his lips and hands from the man, at least made a half-hearted attempt to make it appear as if nothing of that sort had happened, smacked the man across the face, and left. The irritation of the interaction followed him and soured his mood, as much as it could be made worse, for the rest of the day. He told his superior that the prisoner was resilient, much like his previous comrades and he was an officer after all, and it was the truth. 

The next day when Hux arrived to the little room in the abandoned farmhouse, the German had been let free of his bonds and given the comfort of his uniform coat that was currently neatly folded for a pillow. The window had been boarded so that he couldn’t make a daring escape, but his guards reported that he did not seem particularly bent on freedom. Hux found him lying on his back, one leg bent and an arm propping the makeshift pillow up even further, looking natural and calm. When the redhead entered the blonde sat up, leaning on one elbow with interest shining in his blue eyes. “Ready to talk?”

“Some.” Hux rolled his eyes and scoffed, but it didn’t feel that genuine, like it was just for show. He stood over his prisoner, who still looked up at him from the floor with an inexplicable hopefulness, and the muscle under his eye twitched with annoyance. The memory of the day prior still bothered him, taunting him with his failed attempt at extracting information, and here his quarry appeared unbothered by his state of affairs. What did he want? What would get him to speak? 

“This is how it works.” Hux hoped he was right. His life may very well depend on this leap of faith. “I give you what you want, you give me what I want.”

“Was will ich?”7 How a captured man’s face could brighten Hux didn’t know but he tried to ignore how it made him feel. It did, in some way make the next few moments easier, which would come to him as a surprise. 

Even as Hux undid the belt and buttons of his uniform, the German kept his eyes on the fair face with its slight freckles, sharp cheekbones, and long golden lashes. He had to admire the man’s fortitude as his eyes barely strayed even when Hux was bare and sitting in his lap, though his face flush and his breath became ragged. The man’s excitement, as contained as it was, could be felt through his trousers. Green eyes flashed and a voice pitched low said, “Me.” 

As Hux went to undo the man’s clothing his slight wrists were taken into a firm but restrained grip. The Englishman almost broke free of it when the other spoke up. “Adalwin.”

“What?” 

“Adalwin. My name.” Hux scoffed.

“I know your name. Brigadier General Adalwin Lesser.”

“Leser.” Hux repeated it correctly out of common courtesy. “Yours?”

“Excuse me?” Those stupid beautiful blue eyes shined at him some more. 

“Your name. Please.” Hux didn’t respond. “I would like your name.” 

“Brigadier Hux.” He tried to go back to what he’d been doing but the hands returned to stop him. It would’ve been frustrating had a pair of thumbs not ghosted softly over the insides of his wrists. “Armitage Hux.”

“Armitage.” The hands retreated but not before feeling his palms and the backs of his hands. Hux went back to undoing the German’s trousers but had to momentarily freeze. “I like your name.”

Hux didn’t like his name at all, it was used like an insult. That wasn’t the point, the man was just a stupid virgin who was making the mistake of forming feelings for the person about to change that. The ginger could tell because, unprompted, his thighs were being explored with a gentle touch. Even as Hux worked his fingers inside of himself to make his task more comfortable, Adalwin seemed more curious about how other parts of him felt. What genuinely surprised the interrogator was that he allowed him to trace his protruding collarbone, feel his chest and soft stomach, even tentatively find the trail of red curls that led to the cock weighing against his own stomach. Hux had to even bite back a soft moan as he was given a nervous stroke but thankfully he was ready for what he’d set out before him. 

He could practically see his prisoner’s mind fall apart as Hux guided the head of Adalwin’s cock to his frankly desperate ass. It had been a long time since he last had it filled and the prisoner would prove to be a delight, what he lacked in length he made up for in a thickness that strained Hux’s preparation. He was forced to go slow in order to not injure himself and it only added to the torture. What he hadn’t anticipated was that the strong rough hands that took hold of his hips didn’t bring him down in one painful stroke that would’ve had him crying out in not a lustful way, but instead kneaded him as if it would help. When the German opened his eyes, was capable of it, Hux saw the face of someone desperate for attention and approval. 

Finally he could establish a rhythm instead of having to ease himself and he found himself making undignified noises that he drowned with tight lips. His hands rested on Adalwin’s chest for balance and he could feel the man’s heart thudding away like a rabbit trying to escape. A hand went from his hip to cup his face and the other went to his cock but Hux was too drunk on having his ass filled that he didn’t care. He made a noise he couldn’t quite hide and the hand on his face gently threaded into the hairs at the back of his neck before pulling him down. “Küss mich,8 Armitage. Bitte.”

Hux would tell himself that he did because it helped drown the whorish sounds he was making involuntarily, but once their lips touched everything felt different. The name hadn’t sounded like it was spat, the foreign language might as well have been his own, and the lips, while decidedly disgusting because they were in the middle of a war and one of them was a prisoner not even provided the human decency of a bed, were warm and sweet. He was still impaling himself like some girl eager to please, rolling his hips to hit the perfect spot, but it was not like all the other times. The hands while calloused from work were gentle and the voice was soft and reassuring. As clumsy as it was no one had ever really attempted to stroke Hux’s cock while he was riding. Maybe those other men had been afraid. Ashamed. Disgusted. 

This one asked for his name. Asked politely. Complimented him. Armitage was a nice name. He was beautiful. The act wasn’t disgusting. He wasn’t disgusting. He was wanted. 

He felt his partner come to his peak, the hot liquid spilling inside him while the man moaned his name desperately against his throat, holding him close. Hux swatted the man’s hand away so he could catch his own seed in his hand to not leave evidence on the German’s uniform. In his moment of ecstasy he whispered ‘Adalwin’ without thinking about it. 

Hux had removed himself from the man’s lap and was cleaning himself with a cloth left on the back of the chair in the center of the room when accented English spoke up. “Bring me eine Karte und einen Stift.”9

Turned out the Brigadier General was a man who kept his promise. Hux allowed the man to get cleaned up and put himself together before they would resume their business. He hadn’t gotten to stand next to him before but he was still surprised at the difference in their statures. Though, Hux surmised, in a fair fight the German would definitely best him for all his strategizing and flexibility could do against the brawn and low center of gravity. 

He was watching Adalwin mark a map and write out plans when a thought occurred. “Why are you giving up your information?”

“The war must end.” It was stated so solemnly that Hux was a bit surprised. 

“For what reason do you believe that?” The German put down the pen and looked up at the Englishman. Pain. Loss. Disenchantment. Hux employed his knowledge of the language to understand the man across from him.

“Many men have died under my command and by my side, but the survivors accept that it is a reality of war. That is a reality with too great a cost.” He went back to writing as he spoke, possibly to hide the emotion threatening to break his resolve. “Parents lose their children, wives their husbands, children their fathers. Trampled fields, burned homes, stolen livestock. Rivers poisoned with corpses, forests hunted bare, cities filled with ghosts. Someone has to live to repair it all. I cannot put my country’s future in the hands of the old who should be resting, the sick who should be healing, the women who should be nurturing, and the children who should be learning. They could manage, as all humans do, but at what cost?”

“Your people are quite resilient, but they will have an arduous task ahead of them. I do not envy them.” A day ago Hux couldn’t have cared about the dirty faces of German peasant women holding their babies or men in their 60’s trying to grow just enough to survive in fields overrun by trenches and barbed wire. 

“So I hear are the British and the Americans as well.” Done, Adalwin handed the pen back and watched as Hux folded up the map and paper with the notes. “Where are you from? In England.” 

“Surrey.” Normally that was all Hux gave in the way of personal conversation to lower class people but it felt bare. For once he was unsure of himself. “And you?” 

“Kehl.” 

“On the beautiful Rhein.” 

The German lit up. “You know it?”

Hux couldn’t rightly identify the feeling in his chest, some subcategory of ‘glad.’ Seeing the man be excited that a man from Surrey recognized the name of his small hometown made him happy with himself. “I was Strasbourg for a holiday, we passed into Germany through Kehl. It was a lovely place.”

Adalwin’s face was in a big charming grin. “How amusing.”

“Yes, quite the coincidence.” Hux considered it. “We could’ve met.”

“Now we have.” 

Hux rubbed his fingers on the paper in his hands. He didn’t like to place much faith in strange moments and realizations. It was just a simple matter of chance. He’d been to a lot of places in many countries, he could’ve met anyone participating in the war. Carefully he got to his feet, slipping the pieces of paper into the inside of his uniform jacket. The prisoner remained seated on the floor. “Wir sehen uns morgen.”10

“Ich freue mich darauf.” 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Boche: A derogatory term for Germans used by the Allies during WWI.  
> 2\. You are so beautiful.  
> 3\. Thank you.  
> 4\. You're welcome/Please  
> 5\. Shit  
> 6\. No, my angel, I'm sorry.  
> 7\. What do I want?  
> 8\. Kiss me  
> 9\. a map and a pen  
> 10\. See you tomorrow.  
> 11\. I look forward to it.


	2. Sakrament der Liebe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling, and Domine non sum dignus should be on the lips and in the hearts of those who receive it.” ― **Oscar Wilde** , De Profundis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations at the end (not many this chapter)  
> Chapter Title: Love's Sacrament

“That boche is tight-lipped but I did at least get something out of him.” Brigadier Hux handed a map over to Major General Snoke as the man sat behind his field desk smoking a cigar. No one was quite sure how he managed to keep finding them. “I believe I can get more out of him given more time.” 

The map he gave was incomplete and written in his own hand, but it was enough to make him appear successful and promising. He was completely successful but he didn’t want his superior to know that yet. “We can at least send word ahead to that unit to prepare for something. We’re counting on you, Brigadier.”

Hux saluted. “Yes, Sir.” 

He wasn’t sure how he felt about withholding information. His loyalty to his country meant he had to give all of it up so that they could move on and defeat the Germans. What had his country done for him? The nobility would never fully welcome him to their ranks on account of the circumstances of his birth. They did not accept his choice in partners. While he loved his young son that he had to leave behind, his wife was dull and couldn’t even begin to hold his interest. 

So, he had to delay just a little to have time with someone who had captured his interest. 

The next day Hux got an extra portion of food and brought it up to the bare room of the abandoned farmhouse. He found Adalwin trying to look through the spaces in between the boards that kept him from trying to jump out of the window. The man was calm, possibly a little sad judging by the way he was slumped against the wall with his nose pressed against a board. He lit up at the sight of Hux and that made the Englishman feel good about himself. They sat on the bare floor together as the German was allowed to eat for the first time in days. “Dankeschön, Armitage.”

“Bitte, Adalwin.” For once he smiled, though just a little quirk of the lips. The other man was enamored by the sight of it. 

“I have nothing more to give, I am sorry.” 

“No, I am not here for information.” He watched as the plate was cleaned and set aside so the space between them was open. 

“Wofür dann?”1 Hux unwove his long legs and got to his knees only to lean forward, capturing the prisoner’s lips in a kiss. His hands went into unkempt burnished gold hair and felt the scratchy beard growing in on the man’s jaw but he didn’t mind. A pair of hands found his waist to stabilize him, their breaths quickened and became labored as they failed to find the right amount of time to be connected at the mouth. 

Hux found himself rolled onto his back, his head hitting the floorboards with a soft thud. The German braced over him gaped in regret and embarrassment, repeating an apology as his hand stroked the red hair and acted as a barrier between skull and wood, an action so caring Hux didn’t think he’d ever experienced something so compassionate in his life. The Englishman laughed and used his long reach to grab the makeshift pillow of a coat and put it behind his head to alleviate any worries before returning to ravaging Adalwin’s mouth with nips and suction. He wrapped his legs around the other man’s waist and rolled his hips up to elicit a much-wanted response, a soft gasp muffled in a kiss. 

Every buckle, button, and tie was undone with care and anticipation until there was nothing separating them but air and skin. Hux laid splayed out for his partner to explore and he was surprised to see the timid man take some initiative. While hands wandered, feeling the soft warmth of inner thighs and backside, lips went from mouth to neck. Kisses along his pulse had Hux’s chest fluttering and a gentle bite where the shoulder started had him moan. He felt a trail of fire lead straight to one nipple that was subsequently lapped at and tugged with teeth before the other was found to be given the same treatment. Another trail started down his stomach, leaving little bites here and there on its way to between his legs. The sound of a deep inhale, an attempt to register his scent, and the brush of lips against the base of his cock had Hux mewling. 

His torture continued as his greedy desperate member was abandoned and he felt a gentle bite to the inside of his thigh near his knee. Another one encroached further in slowly and by the time the German got near his cock again, Hux was practically ready to beg. He’d never wanted something so badly as that pair of lips wrapped around him. Adalwin accidentally bit a piece of sensitive flesh too hard, causing the owner to flinch, and his wet tongue slid along the forming bruise with a soft apology. The pain followed by the tender act was possibly the most attractive thing to ever happen to Hux. There wasn’t much time to think about it before he felt a hesitant lick, a curse strangled in his own throat. With hooded green eyes he watched in both curiosity and anticipation as the man tried to decide the best course of action, giving the cock a few fortifying strokes of his hand before it disappeared into his mouth. 

No lips to drown his sounds in, Hux settled for biting his hand. The other combed into the blonde’s hair to rest passively on the back of his head as it bobbed up and down. He could tell it was difficult for someone so inexperienced to find a rhythm but he didn’t care, the sensation of the warm wet space around him was incredible even if it was clumsy and unsure. Slicking the fingers of his bitten hand with spit he shifted to slide them into himself, having to drown his sounds in lips pulled tight. 

Hux never felt so vulnerable because he never allowed himself to be. There was something about the concern for his comfort on the floor, the devoted little kisses all over his body that weren’t necessary, and the look in the man’s eyes that asked if his partner was enjoying himself even though the owner didn’t know what they were doing. For once Hux let himself be vulnerable and relinquished control to the person above him. They shared passionate kisses and the same hot air as their breath became ragged and labored. His skin was cold from sweat but where their bodies touched it was as if he was on fire. He wrapped his long legs around Adalwin’s torso and he was pulled into a tight embrace with two strong arms. 

Hux felt safe. 

The German’s mouth was trying to drown a strangled sound in his pale shoulder. He faintly heard ‘ich liebe dich’2 and his mind couldn’t process it. Hopefully the man didn’t actually want his partner to hear but felt compelled to say it anyways. In response Hux placed his hands on the other’s back and put his face to golden hair. For the sake of the embrace his cock had gone unattended but he still felt himself near his orgasm and he could feel the invading body get impossibly harder as Adalwin got closer to his own end. 

Hux felt overwhelmed. 

“Ich liebe dich auch.”3

In the euphoria of the moment, he hadn’t realized he’d said it. He became aware of the semen on his chest before he even began to think of the possibility that he just told someone something so intimate and true. Adalwin didn’t let on, maybe he knew Hux would just deny it or thought it had been said in a moment of passion. Either way he’d laid beside the tall pale Englishman, who appeared boneless where he lay, after wiping off offending fluids with a cloth. He rested his head on Hux’s chest and curled an arm around his middle like a child holding a treasured stuffed animal close during a storm. 

Hux felt treasured. 

For once he felt wanted. Needed. 

He couldn’t help it. He didn’t remember the last time he’d cried, probably sometime long ago when he was still a young boy. He thought he was incapable of it, too grown up and hardened. 

A calloused thumb wiped a tear away, bringing Hux back to the present. Worry painted a face tanned by long marches in the sun. Instead of deriding him, lips pressed against his sweetly but firmly. ‘I am here,’ they said. ‘I am here for you.’

Just Armitage and Adalwin. 

It became the redhead’s turn to hold onto the German, coiling around him like a snake. He heard the steady thump of a heart against a strong chest and felt his head rise and fall with deep breaths. Hux imitated their rhythm and found himself relaxed and peaceful, his focus centered around the simple task. They couldn’t stay that way and for that he tried to steel himself for the disappointment. Usually he would be disappointed that he couldn’t keep around someone who could please him, but this time he wasn’t looking forward to losing whatever he was feeling. The looks, the little touches, the silent communication. The understanding. 

They got dressed. Hux asked if he wanted anything. After a kiss the German requested a bath. Barring that, something resembling a bed. The English Brigadier gave just enough information to Major-General Snoke to earn him both. They weren’t animals, after all. 

“We can’t make proper plans without more information,” the Major-General said around a mouthful of cigar. “Start again in the morning.”

Brigadier Hux saluted. Normally he’d be upset that he didn’t receive the praises he was expecting. “Yes, Sir.”

Getting sent back in was much better. 

“Dismissed.” 

It was rather difficult hiding his good mood; it wouldn’t be easily explainable if someone asked. Yes he’d gotten information out of a prisoner but he’d gotten information out of a lot of prisoners. That would make this one different.

Which he was. In a way that Hux couldn’t explain. 

He brought breakfast with him again the next day and he was delighted to see Adalwin doing exercises to stave off boredom. 

“So,” Hux said softly as he sat down on the floor across from the blonde. He watched as the food was much more readily eaten by the prisoner than it was by the British soldiers. “What did you do before the war?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. What then?  
> 2\. I love you.  
> 3\. auch = too


	3. Auf dem See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Aug, mein Aug, was sinkst du nieder?  
> Goldne Träume, kommt ihr wieder?  
> Weg, du Traum! so gold du bist;  
> Hier auch Lieb und Leben ist.'  
> - **Johann Wolfgang von Goethe** , Auf dem See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: On the Lake (A poem by Goethe)
> 
> 'Eye, my eye, what makes it cast down?  
> Golden dreams, will they return?  
> Away, Dream! However gold you are:  
> Here, too, love and life are'

“Nothing interesting.”

Hux wasn’t sure how sitting on a hard floor had become enjoyable. He liked seeing how the sunlight that filtered between the boards on the window made the prisoner’s hair glitter, some hairs almost white while others a brown or some even tinted red. It just barely moved in the breeze and was an object of nervous fidgeting, getting swept this way or that or disheveled altogether. 

“I suppose I didn’t do anything actually that interesting either, when I give it real thought.” When the blonde finished his meal, Hux beckoned him to sit in his lap. The request was fulfilled much to his surprise, though there was some fussing about hurting someone who seemed so delicate. The redhead gave a reassuring kiss, fingers playing with hair to make it appear combed. “Tell me who you were.” 

“Family farmed. I liked to read.” At the first sign of melancholy Hux kissed a stubbled cheek. “I was an only child. When my parents died I joined the army. Here I am.” 

“I am an only child as well.” A kiss was placed on the tip of his nose to soothe his apparent hesitation. “A legitimized bastard.”

“I don’t mind, liebling.” 

Hux didn’t like talking about himself in such a personal manner but he felt himself open like a flower to the warm spring sunshine. In a tangle of limbs and a duet of heartbeats he learned they shared the same birthdate, both enjoyed their tea black and strong. He forgave Adalwin for taking his coffee with cream and sugar and being fond of sweets because his mother had been an excellent baker and cook. Both weren’t very fond of hunting though the German had many a memory of fishing with his father who, from what was shared, was the man Hux would’ve wanted in a father. The Leser parents were on all accounts loving and supportive, it was no wonder they put the kindest man he’d ever known into the world. 

In a moment of reflection, his chest hurt to think about what a war would do to such a man. It stood up to reason that Adalwin gave him information for an important German maneuver, to bring the war’s end that much closer. Hux was delaying so he could have more time with someone who, when he had to insult him to his compatriots outside that room, caused pain in his heart. A silent apology. 

“Good work. We can now break camp to make our own advancement, take those boche by surprise.” Hux didn’t speak for fear of the lump in his throat being discovered. He knew it had to happen eventually, that he would give over the last of the information, they would move on, and his secret partner would be taken elsewhere to await the end of the war or to be exchanged for a captured Ally officer. That didn’t make it any easier. 

That evening Hux went back to the mostly-bare farmhouse room. The smile on Adalwin’s face made it that much more difficult. Understanding the dark look of grief Armitage wore, the German’s cheer faded as he pulled the taller man into a tight embrace. “Was beunruhigt dich?”1

He buried his face in golden hair, lacing the fingers of one pale hand into the strands beginning to lose the uniformity of a recent haircut. “We are moving on.”

Adalwin’s breath hitched and his grip grew tighter. 

But it was Armitage’s cheeks that were awash with tears. “What is wrong with me?”

“Du fühlst dich traurig.” 2

Armitage moved away so he could wipe away the offending liquid. “Why?”

“Du wirst mich nicht sehen.”3 Adalwin took the other’s face into both of his hands. “It is okay to be sad.” 

“Ich mag es nicht.”4 He drowned his sadness in a pair of lips and a pair of arms that held him tight as he found release the only way he ever had. 

Hux was putting his uniform back on, halfway up the buttons on his shirt, when Adalwin took his elbow and demanded his attention. “Ich liebe dich, Armitage. Du bist mein Engel. Ich werde dich nicht vergessen.”5

“I will not forget you either, my dear Adalwin.” He could sense the man’s sadness that he hadn’t said the four precious words he was hoping for. “I don’t know if I am capable of love. True love. I don’t want to lie to you.”

“Why?”

“It feels wrong to lie to you.” 

“Nein. Warum kannst du keine Liebe fühlen?”6

It took Armitage until the top button, which he did very slowly, to find the answer. “I do not know what it means to love.” 

“Ich fühle mich verletzlich und sicher bei dir. Mein Herz schmerzt, wenn du fort bist.”7 Adalwin watched as Armitage did his jacket and then put on his boots in near silence. Two hands pale as moonlight cupped the German’s strong stubbled jaw and green eyes matched the amorously wide eyes of dark blue. 

“Dann liebe ich dich auch.”8

Armitage tried to memorize the way that kiss felt. For all he knew it would be the last he would ever enjoy. 

The next morning the Brigadier was packing his things in the room of the farmhouse he’d been given as an officer when he heard heavy footsteps and shifting iron chains approach from the hallway. He was unable to decide if he wanted to look up as the escorted prisoner passed and soon the sounds were fading. Throwing his bag over his shoulder he tried to make it not appear that he was rushing to follow, but it meant that the last thing he saw of Brigadier General Leser was the man climbing into the back of a cart with one of his armed guards. Armitage couldn’t very well run after it like in some novel or poem as the horses took them away to a more secure base of operations. 

So he watched until they slipped out of view. He told himself he wouldn’t do what he always did when something was too painful. Armitage refused to forget. Refused to twist the tale around to make it less than it was, to make his lover into some manipulative monster. 

Armitage allowed himself this one vulnerability. One safe harbor in the storm of his heart and mind. A warm light in the window of a cottage near the lovely Rhein. A voice saying 

_Willkommen, mein Herz._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. What troubles you?  
> 2\. You are sad.  
> 3\. You will not see me.  
> 4\. I do not like it.  
> 5\. You are my angel. I will not forget you.  
> 6\. No. Why can you feel no love?  
> 7\. I feel vulnerable and safe with you. My heart aches when you are gone.  
> 8\. Then I love you too.


	4. Lied Salomos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: Song of Solomon
> 
> 'Behold, you are beautiful, my love;  
> behold, you are beautiful;  
> your eyes are doves.'  
> -Song of Solomon

As most soldiers returning from war did, Brigadier Armitage Hux went home with the intention of putting it all behind him. He would do his best to forget what happened on the continent, in the trenches and the fields. His rifle and uniform would be cleaned and polished and locked away for the rare moment they would be needed. Habit dictated that he would be meticulous about where everything was placed and he would keep himself dry almost to the point of compulsion. Everything he did had to serve a purpose or else there was no reason to do it at all, it would just be wasted energy. 

He didn’t particularly care for his wife, Amelia, because while she was pleasing to look at for lack of anything offensive about her, she was rather boring and had nothing that made her unique. A man with an active mind, Hux found the brain of someone who got through school just to say she did and to uphold a certain social standard a frustrating repetitive thing. When she would talk at him he would engage enough to be polite but he’d begun to imagine the conversations he could be having with someone else far away. Someone who had expressed interest in a great many things, one in particular that Hux found a curious choice was the complications of watches and clocks. He didn’t imagine his wife had much opinion on complications other than the ones of affairs that made the rounds of the rumor mills.

Amelia did, however, give him one thing he cherished very dearly, his son Ewan. The boy had been unfortunate enough to inherit his father’s red hair and fair skin, but now that he’d known praise for it Hux didn’t look at the features in the same light. Armitage loved his son dearly, the first thing he had ever said he loved, and he would’ve burned the world down if it was to protect him. He prayed with what little faith he had that the quickly growing boy wouldn’t have to see the things his father had, that he would find true love and keep it. When he wasn’t attending to the business of his estate he was spending what precious time he had left on Earth with the person he cared for most. 

It had been a year before the person he cared for second most contacted him. Hux had of course not forgotten about Adalwin but he had expected there to be a silence, a mutual agreement to move forward in their own little worlds. He had once sat down and thought about writing a letter but the task had been too daunting. What would he say? Should he write it in German or English? What if someone read it, should he write assuming that someone would, keep the nature of their relationship obscure? Where would he even send it to? He knew that the man was from Kehl, but he didn’t know if he was there, if there was a home there in his name or even if someone would know him to pass the letter along. Would it look suspicious for him to be sending letters to their former enemy? Surely not, plenty of people had foreign relatives, would be looking for someone left behind. Hux opened the envelope with trembling hands, his breath stuck in his throat, and found the piece of paper disappointingly short.

_Mein Armitage,_

_I pray your return home was easy and that your welcome was warm as befitting a victor. It was some time before I stepped on the soil of my home and the task of finding your address was more difficult than expected, but thankfully your name is rather unique._

_My country faces a hardship and while I had spent the past year dreaming of coming to see you, I must stay to do what I can for the people of my home. I will think of what you could be doing while I work with my brothers and sisters to rebuild and repay our debt. Please tell me some stories and describe the places you go so that I might imagine them more clearly._

_Yours,_  
_Adalwin Leser_

_P.S.- I will assume no reply means you do not wish to think of me any longer and thus I would wish you the best. If this is the wrong address, please let me know._

It had made sense, then, why the letter was so short and not as personal as Hux had been hoping for. If it had ended up in the wrong hands it would’ve been rather damning for Armitage, someone who was quite known in his social circles, to receive an amorous letter from a German man. Something such as this could’ve easily been the correspondence of two men who had shared an interesting experience in war, he could’ve spun a tale of having to brave the wilderness together in order to survive. He reread the letter over and over before the day was done, formulating a response in his mind silently. 

Upon one reading while Armitage sat at his desk, Ewan managed to sneak up on him with his light steps. When the veteran jumped in his seat, the boy giggled softly. “Sorry, papa, I did not want to interrupt you.”

He willed his heart to calm down with a deep sigh before pulling the young boy into his lap. “Let us try not to scare me anymore, sweetheart, I do not think my heart can take much more fright.” 

“Of course.” His son gave him a strong hug as an apology. The boy had always been more affectionate than Armitage had been at his age, though there were not many objects of affection available to him. Maybe with the right family he would’ve been embracing and holding hands with everyone too. “What is that letter?”

“Papa made a curious friend while he was away. He sent me a letter, I was thinking on how to reply.” He let Ewan take the piece of paper and listened as he read it aloud, the words making him smile to hear them come from a different point of view.

“You made friends with an enemy?” The question hurt his heart but he kept anger out of his voice. 

“Enemies no longer. At the time he was our prisoner. We became friends and he gave me information that helped us win.” He could practically hear the complications in Ewan’s mind turn.

“Why would he help us win? Then he didn’t get to win. Now they have to give everyone their money.” 

“He didn’t want more of his friends and countrymen die. The longer the war went on, the more would perish. He didn’t want to see us suffer more either.” He watched the boy put the letter back down on the desk. 

“He is very kind, then.” Armitage placed a kiss to the crown of coppery hair. 

“He is.”

“When you write your letter, may I add to it?” Blue eyes shined up at him, wide with pleading. 

“Of course.” 

_My Adalwin,_

_I am overjoyed that you have found me as I have debated this past year how best to reach you. A world upheaved is no easy place to discern the movement of another and it is fortuitous that I told you both my name and my place of birth or else we might never have found one another again._

_I arrived home without much trouble and we did receive a hero’s welcome, but I could only think of the things left behind on the continent. The bodies and trenches littering your fields, the soldiers who would have to live in that mire instead of returning to homes untouched. I am blessed that on most accounts I am able to slip back into the life I once had, picking and sweeping up the pieces of conflict with the ink of my pen from the comfort of my study. I am able to roam the countryside without fear of a rifle’s bullet, enjoy moments of silence instead of waiting for the battle to begin. Some have not come back as undamaged as I, putting my insomnia and compulsions to shame with their scars, amputations, and the horrid wounds of gas and grenades._

_I do not envy you the task of rebuilding your homes and producing your reparations. However I know that a man with a heart as large and a body as strong as yours will carry the country on your shoulders, always dreaming that the next sunrise will touch on a land revitalized and new._

_I look forward to hearing from you. When I happen to encounter something noteworthy I will recount it to you._

_Yours,_  
_Sir Armitage Hux_

_Herr Leser,_

_My name is Ewan Armitage Hux, you know my father from the war. He has told me you are a friend even though you were enemies and that you helped us win. I want to thank you for bringing my father home more quickly and for saving all of those lives that might have been lost if the war continued. My friends may have their fathers now thanks to your selflessness. I hope you can rebuild your home and life on the continent so that you might be happy like my father._

_Good luck,_  
_Ewan_


	5. Edelweiß und Rotschopf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The act of writing itself is like an act of love. There is contact. There is exchange too. We no longer know whether the words come out of the ink onto the page, or whether they emerge from the page itself where they were sleeping, the ink merely giving them colour.”  
> ― **Georges Rodenbach** , The Bells of Bruges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: Edelweiss and Redhead  
> [The enclosed picture.](https://tituswritingblog.tumblr.com/post/178297312338/auf-chapter-5-edelweiss-und-rotschopf)

_Mein schöner Engel,_

_How full my heart is to see the ink on the page and know it is you, liebling, at the other end of the pen. Though I know it takes great time for this little bit of paper to reach me I have waited in unshakeable anticipation to receive it, to pore over it continuously by the light of the sun, the moon, the candle that all are shadowed by your beautiful countenance. I apologize for my romantic mind, the majority of my exposure to your native tongue has now been the novels of your greats. I fear my command of the language would embarrass you should I ever meet any of your peers, I am peasant compared to someone as noble as you._

_I admit that my heart felt betrayed to learn now that you have a child, that you are wed, but I quickly realized the error of such an emotion. It is only natural that the life you led before the war would send you down that path like so many of history. In a way I envy you your ability to carry on with that journey, to have a family to hold around a warm hearth in winter and share the sunshine of summer with, though maybe there is a secret pain in it, the pain I fear to be untrue to myself. You are braver than I, more resilient, and I admire you greatly._

_My heart aches for all of our fellows who did not return home whole, though some who appear uninjured have incurred invisible wounds if one lingers long enough to find them. Even my own dreams are haunted with people I knew and things I have seen. When I awake in a cold sweat, my heart racing like a team of wild horses, I calm myself with the thought of you, of the memories we made in that farmhouse on the far side of the Seine. The safest home I have ever known has been the space inside your arms wrapped around me, that place where I can hear your heart speak to me without words. In that haven we are whole, unburdened, and loved; there is no war, no boundaries, no challenge to our happiness._

_As I turn fields and resurrect the ghosts of homes I think of you, how it would feel to see you waiting for me. I would be a sorry sight, all tears and dirt and grime. We would wash the day’s events away in waters warm, you would rub the soreness from my body and stroke my wet hair. To not sleep alone would be the greatest reward I could ever hope for, but our distance and my labor is my penance. I fear there might be no end to the war here, it has just taken another form. I battle for the well-beings of others as they must scrape by, once proud people living to their very last mark, selling off what they could across the border. Barely a trunk of my old life remains but after the war I do not feel it necessary to live out of much more than the pack of a soldier._

_I had sold my ancestral land, after my parents passed and I had decided to join the emperor’s army, to a man who wished to build a more magnificent home for his holidays, so I had no home to call my own. I supposed I could have settled anywhere, but it felt important that I return here to the land I spent my childhood in, the land that made me. So I stay with Rabbi Amichai in his synagogue and home. As a child I played with his son, Daniel, and the family has always shown me kindness. I help them as much as I can and they aid our neighbors just as diligently. Pride fills my heart to know these people as we strive to overcome adversity together in this trying time._

_I look forward to your next letter. May this one find you in good health and spirits._

_Dein ergebener Soldat, 1_  
_Adalwin_

_P.S.- One of the village girls enjoys drawing things so I enclosed one she did of me._

* * *

_Dearest Ewan,_

_Thank you sweetly for your kind letter. You are most welcome to have your father back, I know he is now in your capable hands. I am also warmed to hear your friends have their fathers as well. My father and mother passed before the war and I miss them every day, so cherish your parents while you are able. Know that no matter what, they love you dearly with every fiber of their being. Wars continue even when the soldier returns home and even the strongest of bodies and minds may feel the weight of it. So be there for your father in those moments, do not shy to let him know you love him, and be proud of him. Having known your father I believe you will grow to be a bright and promising young man who will do great things that you put to your mind._

_Möge Gott mit dir gehen, 2 _  
_Brigadegeneral Adalwin L. Leser_

* * *

_Mein schönes Edelweiß, 3_

_I know it has been some time since your last correspondence but I wished to wait until I had something more to express to you. I do not mind one bit your romantic language and it is a light in my heart to read such beautiful words come from someone I hold so dear to my heart. While your life is surely difficult now I have somehow imagined your days to be adventurous. It seems like a story, a German veteran raising houses and tilling fields while sleeping under the roof of a Jewish holy place. That a young lady would pencil your handsome visage, that you give so readily._

_I am without words to express how relieved I am to find you a kindred spirit in the continuing turmoil that is the pieces of war which will not leave me. My dreams haunted I cannot find sleep and there are moments where I do not remember what I had been doing for hours, once even days. Since your letter my sweet son has been somehow sweeter and I suspect you have convinced him to be so, and as such I am eternally grateful. My father hated me and gave me no cause to show filial affection, but it was always my wish that I would earn a child’s love. It is a healing warmth to be embraced and reminded that I am loved like no other._

_I do not know if it burdens my heart to be married to a woman I do not love. It is not that I dislike or despise their kind, I have found some of them lovely and enjoyable, but my Amelia is a plain person that I cannot connect with. No one of any sort has been as bonded to my heart as you. I cannot fathom why it is but I cannot deny the truth of it. I had been blind to it but never have my eyes been wider. Ich liebe dich, meine süße Blume. 4_

_I enjoy a good holiday, maybe when the continent settles I will meet you there. I would meet you in the middle of a storm at sea if it meant I could see you again._

_Zehntausend Küsse, 5 _  
_Dein Rotschopf 6_

* * *

_Mein Rotschopf,_

_I appear to also have a difficult time formulating proper letters for lack of exciting news. I must restrain myself from writing such things as follows._

_Ich vermisse dich. Ich sehne mich nach dir. Ich liebe dich. Ich brauche dich. Ich muss dich sehen und hören. Ich muss in dir sein. Ich muss dich halten und dich küssen. Ich bin dein für immer und ewig. 7 _

_It is all true but what would it mean to have that be every letter that bears my name? Maybe it is a most exalted piece of poetry, the bare and unfurnished outpouring of my heart and soul to yours._

_I would so truly be delighted to see you again. I will work even harder and longer so that you might be comfortable in your visit._

_Eine Ewigkeit der Liebe, 8_  
_Dein Edelweiß_

* * *

_Mein Edelweiß,_

_I cherish you. I wish to hold and kiss you like no other person who has or will ever live. I must envelope you and be enveloped in equal measure, must walk and lay beside you once more. I would live a pauper if it meant I could hear your sweet voice again. I will see you, I know it, I feel it in my very being._

_You will build, I will wait, neither is an easy task._

_Die Wärme von hundert Sonnen, 9_  
_Dein Rotschopf_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Your devoted soldier  
> 2\. May God walk with you.  
> 3\. My beautiful Edelweiss  
> 4\. I love you, my sweet bloom.  
> 5\. Ten-thousand kisses  
> 6\. Your redhead  
> 7\. I miss you. I long for you. I love you. I need you. I must see and hear you. I must be in you. I must hold you and kiss you. I am yours for ever and always.  
> 8\. An eternity of love  
> 9\. The warmth of a hundred suns


	6. Be Not Proud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _‘One short sleep past, we wake eternally_   
>  _And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.’_   
>  _- **John Donne **, Death Be Not Proud****_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is going to hurt. Please forgive me.  
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and I hope you will enjoy the other parts of the series.

_Mein Edelweiß,_

_I have sorely missed our correspondence, I_

Armitage was at his writing desk when there was a knock on the door frame to his study. 

“What do you have in your hands, Ewan?” The little redhead had become not so little in the past year but he was still sweet as ever, something the elder Hux cherished gladly. He was handed a thick envelope with a look of hesitance, which given that the postage was decidedly by way of Germany, the sending address was the same as he’d expected, but the name was not A. L. Leser. Carefully he picked up his letter knife, almost not wanting to open it since the moment it touched his fingers it weighed more than it had any right to weigh. 

“A trunk came with it, papa.” 

_Herr A. Hux,_

_My name is Amichai Bernstrauch, the Rabbi of the Kehl Synagoge. It is with heavy heart that I inform you_

Armitage squeezed his eyes shut so that he couldn’t continue reading. There was a wound in his heart that he knew would never heal, that he knew he couldn’t thwart by not finishing the letter. He owed it to the kind German soldier, his alpine flower, to finish what he started. 

_that the wonderful soul known to you as Adalwin Leser has left this life and us with it. I know that the two of you were close and well acquainted so I felt it pertinent and my duty to pass this information on to you. Sweet Adalwin succumbed to the awful Spanish flu, his once strong body unable to fight it long as he’d forgone proper meals to help our less fortunate compatriots. Of all the deaths I have been witness to, his might not have been befitting a brave soldier but for his bright life he was smiled upon and did not suffer as harshly as he could have._

_We have buried our comrade and friend in the Leser family cemetery here in Kehl on the land that once belonged to them. With Adalwin dies his line save for distant cousins, though that parcel of soil has long since been given to another. I believe you to have been his closest friend; I knew him to diligently write to you, he spoke of you fondly, and while he was a generous and selfless man he was not much more than a simple acquaintance to the village people. Thus I have packed what possessions I found to be most personal and precious in the hope that someone close would find peace and value in them._

_שָׁלוֹם 1_  
_Rabbi Amichai Bernstrauch_

“It is not a good letter, is it, papa?” Armitage had almost forgotten his son was lingering, though just far enough away to give him some privacy with the piece of paper. While reading his steward and another servant had deposited the mentioned trunk in the study without a word. He made to respond but his throat felt as if he’d swallowed hot coals and tears began to form in his eyes, making them sting. Two willowy arms gave him an embrace and Ewan rested his cheek on the back of his father’s shoulder. “I am sorry, papa. He was your friend.”

“He was much more.” He wouldn’t divulge his perversion to his own child but the boy was prone to seeing the romanticism, even ones of an innocent and platonic nature, in almost anything. There was something undeniably poetic about a man returning from war only to be excited to write back and forth to a man who could have very well killed him. It was human and pure, at least from the point of view of someone sweet and uncorrupted. Armitage thought he’d been beyond crying, but he couldn’t help the tears that ran down his cheeks. 

As a distraction he opened the envelope again to find a small sealed note, the word ‘Armitage’ drawn shakily across its front. Though not neat and deliberate, he recognized it as if he’d read the hand since the day he was born, as if it were his own. 

_Auf Wiedersehen, mein Rotschopf. Bis dahin werde ich auf dich aufpassen. 2_

_Dein Edelweiß_

* * *

Armitage couldn’t remember the last he’d eaten or bathed or even gotten out of bed. At first everyone assumed and feared that he’d contracted a terrible illness but when Ewan could not be convinced to leave his father be in order to not have his own poor immune system ravaged they suspected something else, possibly some hidden wound left by the war or some secret he’d kept for too long. Either way his son would come sit with him when he wasn’t attending lessons; he would read aloud or practice his violin, things that used to cheer the man up on any given day. When a rare moment of energy arose they would play chess or talk softly to one another, about what he couldn’t remember for the life of him. 

He felt a fool, like in some horrid novel or poem. Heartache had turned to heartsickness which then became a heart death; the space in his chest where the organ had been was hollow, destroyed by a fire that left the smallest bit to keep him alive, fueled by his love for Ewan. The boy was desperate to see his father take care of himself, to get up and sit with him at dinner, to converse and smile. The man in the bed was not his father, at least not the one he’d known for most of his life. 

“I do not understand, papa,” he’d said one day, having shut the door to his father’s room and sat in the chair at the bedside, “why you are ailing this way over the death of a man you hardly knew.”

“I do not want you to understand.” In a way he’d of course meant that the nature of his relationship with the dead soldier was torrid and in that torridness was a societal and, in some eyes, moral shame. In the moment he’d intended for his son to never feel the wretched pain of a heart so severely broken. There was a stretch of silence as Ewan considered something. 

“Papa?” 

“Yes, sweetheart.” The boy reached out and took his father’s hand into a gentle hold. 

“If you loved him,” blue eyes were sad though his lips were smiling, “I would not think any less of you.” 

“And how is that?” He squeezed the little hand, hoping it would not pull away for fear of the last connection he had to life being severed. 

“We cannot help who we truly love. At least, that’s what the poems and songs say.” His pale sharp face grew serious. “If you truly love someone, then your love comes from the soul. You cannot argue with what your soul wants, can you?”

Armitage’s lips parted and his eyebrows creased in disbelief. He shut them while he mulled on the wisdom of the world seen through a child’s eyes. “I suppose you cannot, Ewan.” 

“Then I am very sorry.” 

“Whatever for?” The son unfolded himself from the chair and crawled into the space between his father and the edge of the bed. 

“That you did not have the chance to see him again in this life.”

* * *

Reverently, a priest holding a most sacred ritual, Armitage opened the heavy oak and iron trunk that had laid in his study for half a year. It had whispered to him all that time but he never had the courage to answer the call; it was a voice he knew but just a memory, an impression of a life, a hopeless dream. The key had been in the envelope that rested on top in the locked drawer of his writing desk along with all the other letters he’d received from his Edelweiß, its weight was supernatural to his touch, making the task even more difficult. 

_Click._

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting but somehow his mind thought of his own locked trunk with the uniform decorated with ribbons and medals and the rifle cleaned meticulously before being put away. There was a German officer’s uniform and from the wounded fabric Armitage knew it had been the one Adalwin wore when he was captured; the man would’ve been buried in his more formal set or possibly his wish had been to be buried as a civilian so that he might in some way forget the events that plagued him, the events that plagued Armitage as well. He let his pale fingertips brush the jacket, remembering how it had felt under his head when his _Edelweiß_ took him from above or when the man had been wearing it and the redhead placed his hand over the other’s heart. There was no heartbeat to be felt but he still placed his palm over the left breast. 

_Mein Herz schlägt für dich. 3_

Then what did it mean when that heart could no longer beat? 

There were journals, bound in a leather supple from heavy use and pages yellowed with age, full of the handwriting that brought tears to his eyes. Days’ events laid out, poetry rewritten, letters rehearsed. The German had spent precious time and care to better learn the language of his _Rotschopf_ , so that his words might reflect his feelings where a kiss and embrace could not suffice. Recountings of the war, the people he’d lost in his command, the things he’d seen. Wishes, dreams, and heartaches. A voice far away. A lingering warmth. The scent of ink, smoke, and splotches of grease. Soil, sweat, tears. The sparkle of deep blue eyes writing by candlelight. 

A map with all of the locations and movements of _Brigadegeneral_ A. L. Leser’s command. Places he had been. Places he wanted to go. Things he’d wished to see. 

A life not lived. 

A love not loved.

* * *

The journey had been emotionally difficult but the presence of Ewan, a boy nearly worthy of ‘young man’ who embodied excitement and adventure, had made it more bearable. Armitage didn’t know if he could do what he needed to do without the encouragement. 

At the bottom of a green hill at the edge of a small forest sat a square of grass separated from the rest by low walls of stacked grey stone. There was no gate just a single slab set into the earth to start a pathway between the rows of headstones, some faded to nothing, but three stood next to each other looking almost as if they’d been placed no more than a month ago. The cemetery had shown signs that someone maintained it but weeds still threatened to choke the standing stones, hoping to bring them down in some years’ time. In front of the newest one Armitage knelt, just barely touching the name with his fingertips, tracing it even though it was imprinted on his heart and soul. He took the knife from his coat and, not caring that he would get his trousers and hands dirty and stained, began cutting away at the offending weeds, brushing the stone to almost shining with his handkerchief, even digging his nails into each individual carved letter. The Englishman admired his work before looking towards the other two stones. 

“You do not know me, but I knew your son.” Armitage ignored the voice in his head, his father’s voice, that mocked him for speaking to stones as if they were people. “I do not know if you would have approved, I know my father would have skinned me alive if he’d ever known what I was… capable of, but I thank you for the person you put into this cruel and unforgiving world.”

He was just finishing up polishing the stone for Adalwin’s father when Ewan’s footsteps crunched against the path and grass. In his hands was a collection of wildflowers picked from the neighboring field. “I thought… it would be a kind gesture.” 

Armitage took the bunch from his son and admired their fragrance and beauty. He smiled even though his heart was breaking and he spoke even though his throat threatened to collapse. “I could not have thought of anything better. Thank you, Ewan.” 

He split the bouquet into three and placed the biggest one in front of the newest stone. 

As tears started to spill from green eyes the grey clouds overhead let go of their own aqueous burden. 

_Rain has fallen all the day._  
_O come among the laden trees:_  
_The leaves lie thick upon the way_  
_Of memories._

 _Staying a little by the way_  
_Of memories shall we depart._  
_Come, my beloved, where I may_  
_Speak to your heart._

_- **James Joyce** , Rain Has Fallen All The Day_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Shalom  
> 2\. Until then I will take care of you.  
> 3\. My heart beats for you.


End file.
